When I was growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, I flew the bright yellow planes of Hughes Air West to a number of their destinations. To me, those planes were a sign of the times. Add to that the equally brightly arrayed stewardesses. There was a time that they wore go-go boots, right in the height of my teen-hormone years. Talk about your lasting impressions! The traveling salesman was a sign of those times too, and of course big IBM business computers were spreading all over the business world. Combining these elements into something sexy just seemed natural. Many of the details were culled from anecdotes I have heard along the way. I set out to write a story that spoke of that time, and hopefully give a unique perspective on The Mile High Club. And I had a great time doing it.

Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?

The force of a jet moving through the air near the speed of sound, and the close proximity of the passengers have to be key parts of it. The combination of the physical rush of the planes thrust and the requirements that the passengers remain sedentary. I suppose some of it relies upon exhibitionism and voyeurism too. Add to this the fact that most of the people you meet in a trip, you will never meet again — the power of anonymity — and it creates a fertile ground. For a brief time, we’re all captive in the belly of the plane, maybe we’re anxious as we are at the beginning of a vacation or a key business trip, on our way to a reunion or whatever. All of those stimuli have the potential to make a spicy stew. It kind of cooks itself!

Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?

Be observant, and open to opportunity, but learn how to be stealthy! It’s one thing to toy with exhibitionism and voyeurism, and quite another to be led away from the gate in cuffs. Unless, of course, that’s your thing… In that case, screw being stealthy!

What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?

I’m blissfully a one-woman-man, and she’s not a celeb yet, so any such assignation would have to be the realm of fantasy. But in that realm I’ll say Jill Clayburgh. I’ve had a hopeless crush on her since she danced around a New York apartment in her underwear in the movie An Unmarried Woman and when she delivered the lovely line “I give great phone” in Silver Streak, not a flying movie, but a close second, a train movie. I always take window seats, Jill, so please remember to take an aisle in first class, or a middle seat in coach (who am I kidding? Jill would never ride coach. )

Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?

I tend to like smaller airports, perhaps because there is less rush to them. Like smaller towns, people tend to be more open to casual conversation. By contrast, larger planes are better. Why? Opportunity! Larger planes have more places to secret away, and a larger number of people to get “lost among.” Larger numbers of restrooms means more opportunity to “linger.” In general, I find the sensations of flying sexy. I’m one who actually enjoys turbulence, and I really like the g-forces of take off and landing.

We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?

Step outside yourself, and observe what is around you. There is a microcosm in the fast travel world. From the brief contacts we make from flight to flight or waiting at the gate, to seeing reunions outside the security checkpoints, travel offers us an opportunity to see people through a certain lens. A woman once caught my eye on a flight years ago. This was before tattoos were in, and she was sitting an aisle up from me and she had this pretty rose tattoo on one heel and this grabbed me. Throughout the flight she read from three very contrasting books and magazines, and this brief flight gave me unusual images of what this woman might be, where she might be going. I almost always take a good book to read on a trip, but I usually spend more time watching people than reading.

What’s next for you?

I have recently finished writing a novel called Augsburg Diary that drawing from my experiences in the Army in the early 1980’s, when I was stationed at a Military Intelligence base in Germany. I am in the process of pursuing publication for this book. While I love short stories and will continue to write them, I’m increasingly my focus on longer works now.

Do you have anything else to add about The Mile High Club?

I love the writing to the specifications of anthologies. It challenges me to explore new areas I might not otherwise take on, left to my own devices. I found The Mile High Club a particularly fun challenge as the setting is very specific. But, for all the reasons I gave above, it is a fertile ground for sexy stories, and I’m glad I got an opportunity to play in that ground!

My story, “Wing Walker” was inspired by a friend from some years back whose boyfriend was a stunt pilot. He traveled to air shows around the UK and Europe in his biplane. At one point, he was looking for someone willing to train as a wing walker. I was very, very tempted despite the fact that I am an absolute chicken with heights. I went along to the airfield with them, and while it cemented that fact that my feet are better kept on the ground, it was an awesome thing to watch. And then I read Rachel’s call for submissions for The Mile High Club and I’m afraid I took sex ON a plane rather literally.

Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?

It’s a bold and brazen statement of your naughtiness. Pretty much everyone knows what you’re doing. After all, why else would two people willingly go into a cramped airplane toilet together? And half of the plane have probably been listening to your pleasure as they line up outside waiting for the lock to slide over to “vacant”. And however subtle you think you’re being with that carefully positioned blanket, you can bet the flight attendants have you pegged. You need to be bold and brassy about it, and let’s face it, not all of us have the guts for that. There’s no way to join the Mile High Club discreetly, not unless you’re Barack Obama in Air Force One with a whole spacious plane to romp in, and only the Secret Service looking discreetly out of the window. Hmmmm, now that’s an idea for a story…

Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?

Move to Denver? Somehow that mile-high city doesn’t count for this. So, wear a skirt. Smile sweetly when security pulls out your mini-vibe from your carry-on baggage. Select the two seats at the back of the airbus, so that you don’t have an inadvertent threesome with the person in the third seat. Wiggle your way onto Air Force One.

What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?

Sexy tennis players Rafael Nadal and Amélie Mauresmo come to mind. Can I have both of them? At once? And now I’ve got Air Force One into my head, I’ll add Barack and Michelle Obama.

Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?

Right now, I’m having major fantasies involving Air Force One and a certain president, but I have to say that normally planes don’t do much for me. That’s probably why I set my story “Wing Walker” ON a plane, out in the freedom of the cold open air, rather than in an air-conditioned tin can.

We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?

Assuming you’re traveling Cattle Class, and can’t sashay your way into an upgrade, my patented method for making plane journeys fly by, is white wine, loose clothing, no shoes, toothbrush and toothpaste for those long haul flights, and of course a good book. Personally, I love long haul flights, and consider them prime story-writing time. And the expression of the person in the next seat as they read what I’ve written over my shoulder? Priceless.

What’s next for you?

I’m eyeing Australia again, and expect to be living back there by the end of the year. Writing wise, right this second I have twitchy fingers to write about Air Force One. I’m also taking second (Third? Fourth?) looks at some unfinished stories that stalled for various reasons, and I’m working on a novel with bisexual themes. My website http://www.cheyenneblue.com has details.

“Oh?” he says, and his eyes flick over me dismissively, no doubt picturing me in thick overalls wielding an industrial hose of airplane deicer at DIA. “You don’t look the maintenance type.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I wear a catsuit, not a boilersuit, and I dance on the wing of the plane as it flies along.”

That always gets their attention, at the very least a double take, while they decide if I’m serious or not. And if they decide I am, then I have their interest for as long as I want it.

Wing walking goes something like this:

I dress warmly—a layer of wicking thermals because it’s colder than the moon out there, with the wind whipping away every thought of warmth; then the catsuit. It’s a patriotic red, white and blue, a line of stars down the thigh, diagonal stripes over the torso. Patriotism goes down well with the air-show crowds. I wear goggles against the wind, soft slippers on my feet so I don’t harm the fabric of the wing.

Bob is our pilot, Buttercup is our plane. Bob is sixty-eight and has a steady hand on the controls. Buttercup is also sixty-eight and she’s a Boeing Stearman biplane, a game old girl painted as sunny as her name. Bob and her, they have a long history together. I often think they’ll go together in a burst of flame on a hillside. I just hope I’m not on the wing at the time.

We take off from a back strip, away from the crowds. I’m already on the upper wing in my safety harness, securely fastened to the upright struts that protrude from the center of the plane’s structure. Surely you didn’t think I’d do this without a harness? Some people used to, but they tended to have short careers.

We circle the air show once, up high. We’ll talk a little on the radio. Bob worries how long he can keep doing this. The maintenance on the old girl gets harder every year. Then we get the signal to go and we come in fast and low. I’ll be in a pose: arm extended gracefully, my long hair streaming behind me like Boadicea the warrior queen. Or Xena the warrior princessæI guess more people have heard of her. One leg cocked up, I’ll hold the pose and wave to the crowd as Bob takes us up in a hard spiral. And for the next fifteen minutes or so, Bob will twirl with Buttercup, looping the loop, flying upside down, flipping her from side to side, always within sight of the crowds, of course. And me? I’ll be up there, posing, slow-motion dancing, sometimes doing a handstand, although Bob has to keep her totally steady for that one, so I only do that when he’s been dry for a few days. The wind pummels the breath from my body, and moving a limb is like pushing against cement. The roar of the air and the rumble and creak of the plane beneath my feet fill my head. There’s a crowd? I honestly couldn’t tell you. It’s just me and Buttercup and Bob, flying in our little space-time continuum.

In my story “Nasty Little Habit,” I wanted to set up an airplane seduction that could easily happen in my real life. Now you may be wondering if I’ve masturbated on a trans-Atlantic flight under the blanket? I’m afraid I have to take the Fifth on that one…

I will confess that like my narrator, I find the close contact with so many anonymous men on an airplane very provocative. The writer in me wants to slip inside their lives to know their secrets even for just a few moments. As in the story, I’ve also sat next to men who kept glancing over clearly hoping to chat, but since I usually have a great book I want to read, I’d ignore them as best I could. On the other hand, when I did relent, I enjoyed the strange intimacy with a partner chosen by the seat assignment computer. It makes me realize we’re all on the same journey, at least for a time. And why not have fun along the way?

Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?

Good sex whisks us away from ordinary life to another realm, a sort of suspended state existing beyond the rules we usually follow. Witness for example all the control freaks, men or women, who love to be dominated in bed, just as Matt Conklin’s narrator observes in “Wild Child.” Airplane travel is like sex. We are literally suspended in air, able to take on a temporary new identity. We’re brushing up against strangers we’d otherwise never meet, our senses are heightened by the excitement and novelty. Plus, there’s always that whiff of danger that each ride might be our last. Since we’re all thinking sexy thoughts anyway, we’re bound to be curious about the brave few who can take it one step further to actually realizing our collective fantasy.

Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?

On our many flights to Japan, my husband and I occasionally lucked out and got the entire middle bank of seats on a 747 to ourselves. We’d put up the arm rests and stretch out, his head on one end, mine on the other, legs entwined. Sometimes we’d spoon together and I could feel his hard-on pushing against my ass, cruelly separated by our clothes. Occasionally a flight attendant would glance at us, but that’s back before I wrote erotica and we reined in our improper urges. Now that transgressive sex is very much on my mind for professional reasons, I can appreciate the possibilities that situation presents more fully.

For a woman, masturbating under the blankets is very doable. As a responsible professional, I confirmed the logistics on my last flight to Japan recently. However, practically speaking, to move up to platinum membership in the Mile High Club with intercourse in the restroom, I’d definitely need some serious foreplay in the seats to overcome the ick factor. Of course, in the right mood, squalor can be a turn-on all its own.

What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?

Jon Stewart. He’s smart and funny and he looks a bit like my grandfather. Plus, I think he has enough of a prurient streak he’d really appreciate a good roll on the seats.

Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?

Pittsburgh International Airport is definitely my first love. I took my maiden flight from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C. when I was eight. It lasted all but forty-minutes, but they served an elegant breakfast on china plates: two huge Danishes, fresh melon, orange juice in a real glass.

The parking lot of the Pittsburgh Airport was where I became enchanted with the perfume of jet fuel on the breeze, the fragrance of foreign adventure. The waiting area is where I saw an infomercial on California made by TWA that made me yearn to live in that golden land someday. (Dreams do come true–I’ve been a California girl for years now, although of course TWA has long passed into history.) And the Pittsburgh Airport is where the man who took my virginity–actually I sort of shoved it at him and said “here”–treated me to breakfast one very early July morning. Driving out to the airport to have eggs and toast and watch the planes take off is an time-honored romantic tradition in the City of Steel.

We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?

Long flights to Europe or Asia are the real challenge. Drink lots of plain water, but no alcohol. Take off your shoes and wear travel socks (except to the restroom—those floors are sticky) to avoid swollen, aching feet. Blow-up neck pillows are key for restful sleep, and try to get some or the jet lag will hammer you. Plus, always snag a blanket, even if you don’t plan to masturbate!

What’s next for you?

I’m easing up on the promotion of my first dirty book, Amorous Woman (the semi-autobiographical tale of an American woman’s love affair with Japan), to start work on a new novel, which will be a journey into America’s erotic past. The research has been lots of fun. I’m also starting up a collection of podcasts of my work, which you can find on the Aural Pleasures page of my website.

That’s what I tell myself as I shuffle on to the London-bound plane with the other Premiere Executives. I’m the only woman in the bunch, which isn’t unusual. Before I decided to change my ways, the closeness of so many anonymous male bodies was the first thing to get me in the mood for later misbehavior. I’d imagine them gathered around me as I pleasured myself, cocks in hand, ready to shoot their loads all over me until every inch of my flesh glistened like a freshly glazed doughnut.

Today, however, I resolutely wipe such thoughts from my mind as I hurry through the business class cabin—no upgrade this time, alas—and silently repeat my vow.

I will not masturbate under the blanket on this flight.

I murmur it, under my breath, as I slip my suitcase into the overhead bin.

I will not masturbate under the blanket on this flight.

Pulling my book from my shoulder bag, I settle into seat 33B. Call me a masochist, but I specifically requested a center seat rather than my usual window. Breaking bad habits always requires a certain amount of discomfort, and it will be that much harder to jam my hand down my pants with a vigilant stranger on either side.

I pick up the plastic-wrapped blanket from my chair and push it under the seat in front of me, well out of temptation’s way. It’ll make for a chilly night, but I can hardly masturbate under the blanket if I have no blanket, can I?

“Excuse me.”

It’s a male voice, obviously the occupant of 33A. I don’t even look his way as I rise and step into the aisle to let him pass…

I started writing erotica because I was having trouble with the sex scenes in a novel that had a sex-heavy subplot, and I figured writing about sex on its own canvas would be the best practice — like taking an afternoon to practice parallel parking before the driving exam. I went through a lot of “skill drills” like that, the simplest possible scenarios, just to write about the mechanics of sex itself and find the language I was comfortable with, before starting to actually write stories.

Once I did, I went through a prolific phase of the kind I hit sometimes, where I write a handful, a couple handfuls, of stories that have a lot in common while I work something out. Sometimes you have to go through a lot of naked apes to see what works, what you like, in order to let humans evolve from the muck you’ve laid out before you. You don’t settle for the first thing to climb down from the trees.

In this case, what I liked was the second-person narration and the present tense. That’s what I started with. The immediacy and intimacy of that. It’s a little wrong. Stories told that way can make you a little uncomfortable, they’re a little presumptuous. Setting it on an airplane — both public and confined — followed from that, and so did the anonymity of the characters, as a contrast to that intimacy.

Why do you think The Mile High Club has such a mystique?

An airplane is a public space — well, usually, and in my story — but at the same time, it’s one you can’t leave. It’s a rare space, too. It’s a technological privilege to be able to occupy that space. There’s already something ballsy about being up there, no matter what you’re up to.

Do you have any tips for people looking to join The Mile High Club, whether from personal experience, observation or imagination?

Those bathrooms are smaller than they look in the movies.

What celebrity would you most want to join The Mile High Club with and why?

Natalie Wood, around 1969 — the year Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice came out. She looks amazing in that. Plus, she was barely over 5 feet tall. Like I said, those bathrooms are small.

Are there any specific planes or airports you find particularly sexy?

Sadly, none come to mind.

We all know that in real life, plane travel is often not very sexy at all. What’s your best piece of advice on how to make plane travel as relaxing as possible?

Vicodin, melatonin, and never check your luggage.

What’s next for you?

I have a story in your upcoming spanking anthology that I’m very happy with, and a number of ideas, some of which will bloom into things that make a few people wet, a few people hard.

Bill Kte’pi’s story “34B” is the opener to The Mile High Club: Plane Sex Stories. I always start my books with what I think is the strongest story, and his is so hot and twisted and perfect, it was fitting to kick the book off with a bang! Below is a short excerpt; buy the book to read the entire story and find out what happens next.

SWF seeks adventure. 34, attractive, strong, professional, healthy, happy. Seeking that missing piece and a man to take control. Tell me what you have to offer.

Every time the car hit one of those speed bumps on Airline Highway, you think about turning around. This is thrilling, yes–but stupid, too. Stupid to spend this kind of money over a man you’ve never met.

Nancy–be on the flight from Baltimore to Portland: I’ve pasted the itinerary at the bottom of this email. Buy a ticket for seat 34B. I’ll reserve 34C. I’m buying two tickets; I’ll leave C empty until it’s time.

Waiting in line for your ticket, waiting to board, you look at the men around you, even though you know he isn’t one of them. He’ll board the second flight, when you switch planes in Baltimore. You don’t know where he’s from. He doesn’t know where you’re from.

As you go through security, you half hope you’re stopped for something, that the emery board in your purse disqualifies you from air travel, that overzealous air marshals decide you’re a threat to national securit–and you get sent home to your matching plates and new stereo and warm safe bed.

You fidget on the plane to Baltimore, unable to concentrate on the paperback you brought in your purse. You glance down at your lap to see if anyone can tell you’re not wearing panties. Baltimore is a forty-seven-minute layover that seems to stretch on for hours.

You board the second plane.

34B–it sounds like a bra size. You don’t even know his name. You gave yoursæyour real name, though he may assume otherwise–but he never offered his and you didn’t want to ask and have him say no. You didn’t want to establish his right to tell you no that quickly.

This is stupid. But it’s safe, isn’t it?

He pointed that out when you hinted at your uncertainty a month ago: It’s an airplane. What is it you think I can do without you letting me do it?

According to Redbook, sex on a plane is a go, as long as you’re careful:

The Mile-High Club: Should you become a member?
It’s no shock that teeny-tiny airplane bathrooms aren’t optimal for lovemaking — they hardly accommodate one body, let alone two. For maximum maneuverability, stand with one leg on the toilet with your man embracing you from behind. “And discretion is key,” adds Gardos. “Plan it so that one of you enters the bathroom a couple minutes before the other: Quickies are ideal.” According to JetBlue Airways spokesperson Brandon Hamm, flight attendants use their discretion with onboard hookups, usually asking passengers to discontinue behaviors that might make others uncomfortable. So go ahead and risk it, but be sneaky or prepare to be told to return to your seats and buckle up!

My name is Rachel, and I’m a member of the Mile High Club. Well, only kindof (you can read about my real-life plane sex adventure here).

I did edit this super-hot book, The Mile High Club: Plane Sex Stories that’s coming out in March, with stories about airplane sex that’ll make you want to rush to your nearest airport. If you have a story to share, email me at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com (put “Mile High” in the subject line).

I’ll be blogging about the mile high club in the news and keeping you posted about events for the book and other items of interest; I hope to do readings at airport bookstores. I can certainly say that working on this book has made every plane trip more memorable as I look around and imagine what everyone around me is up to!